


disarm me

by bitternanami, ymirjotunn



Series: disarm me [2]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Conductor Neku, M/M, Post-Game, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitternanami/pseuds/bitternanami, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymirjotunn/pseuds/ymirjotunn
Summary: It’s not that he wants to forget about it. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’dwantto.If weird shit is going to happen, that’s fine. He just wants to have a say in it this time. Maybe he could even handle it better, given a fair chance....Not that anybody’s going to bother giving him one (and yes, he’s talking about Josh), but he can dream.[with great thanks tomonica, who serves as illustrator & co-author, andellen, who is wonderful][this is the main fic in the series; all other parts are additional, optional, and in no particular order unless otherwise noted!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for discussion of depression and suicide, therapy, medication.
> 
> everyone's trans and autistic and that's just something you're going to have to accept
> 
> enjoy the ride!!!

Everything after the Game is so much...brighter.

At first, Neku’s certain it’s just because they’re all out. Nothing like finally being free from three weeks of the most literal life-or-death situation ever to make you feel pretty good about the world, right?

And then he has those first couple of sleepovers with Shiki, where they talk about - well, lots of things, especially the Game, but also about how she felt before she killed herself, and how Neku felt before he died, and how they both still feel sometimes. One night the TV is on low and the bowl of popcorn is almost empty, and Shiki asks him if he’ll make another pact with her, only sort of joking. He agrees.

So it is that the first time either one of them goes to the psychiatrist, they’re together, bumping shoulders on the train ride there, and Neku lets Shiki grip his wrist while she gives her name to the receptionist. Shiki thinks it’s cute that they’re on the same medication; Neku’s just thankful because it means Shiki can remind him when he’s supposed to take it.

After that, he’s pretty sure it’s not that things are brighter, per se, just that depression had always made things… desaturated. He knows the Game helped make it easier, because seeing somebody about this was definitely not something he would’ve been able to do before. Actually, he and Shiki have developed a theory that it was probably _made_ to help with that sort of thing, at least in part.

(He can think of a few ways it could do better, but comes to realize that it’s not his job, and besides, it’s not like Josh seeks him out for advice.) 

(It’s not like Josh seeks him out at _all_ , actually. The years pass and he checks Hachiko every day, surreptitiously, feeling a little silly as he searches the crowds for the flash of grey he keeps expecting.)

(He’s never there, of course. It stops stinging so bad, eventually.)

And eventually Neku comes to realize that it’s not just being out of the Game, and it’s not just the depression, and it’s not just whatever the Game did to make the depression manageable, and it’s not just the fact that he has friends now. It’s more than all of that. 

The world is _literally_ brighter, for him.

And he’s pretty sure it’s still changing.

When Shiki takes him to the store with her and Eri to get more fabric, he points out one pattern with stripes that catches his eye, pulls it out in folds to demonstrate the shape in his head, and Eri sits down on the floor right there and sketches a dress on the spot and thanks him with an exuberance that nearly bowls him over. They always come over to his house, after that, when they’re working on something, just to get his feedback, even if he’s been friends with the two of them for years now and still doesn’t know what a surplice neckline or a slip stitch is. He knows enough to make comments here and there, on the colors and the shapes, and it’s kinda neat to be able to help them out.

After he graduates and starts getting serious about art, he realizes that he’s... _good_ at it. Not that he’s got technical skill, because that’s always taken time and work on his part and still does, but that he’s good at figuring out what he wants to draw, good at making what’s in his head into something tangible and meaningful. 

It’s an unbelievable rush, to show somebody a piece and hear what they think, hear how they echo the emotion he put into it and give him a little bit of their own, too.

And those are just the big things, the loudest ones. Knowing what he knows, about the city, about Imagination, about the way it all works, it’s impossible to _not_ notice all the little things. 

How his street art never gets painted over. How people smile at him when he’s walking through the city, even if he’s never met them. How the light is never red when he hits the end of the block. How there’s always a notepad or a dropped receipt or a napkin just lying there, within reach, whenever he needs to get something on paper before he forgets.

So he knows that whatever is up with the UG nowadays, something or somebody is still looking out for him.

It’s not like it’d be gone without all those things, either. He still has the nightmares, or just dreams, if he’s lucky. Shiki and Beat and Rhyme still make jokes and references nobody else would understand, still talk about it, still think about it. They still meet up at Hachiko every Saturday to grab some Sunshine and chat, even though it’s been nearly six years. It’s not really something any of them can shake.

“I really think things are weird,” Neku is saying to Shiki as she pays - it’s her turn, this weekend. “Like, weirder than they used to be. You getting any of that lately?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Shiki says, shrugging as she hands him the tray of food. Rhyme’s already grabbed them a table, one near the window; she likes to people-watch while they eat. “Things are always weird, how am I supposed to tell if they’re getting weirder?”

“I keep--” Neku lowers his voice; it’s loud in Sunshine, the lunch rush, but he still doesn’t exactly want to get pinpointed as the weirdo in the building. “I keep thinking I’m hearing things. In class the other day--”

“Hey, sweet, these’re fresh,” Beat says, face aglow as he grabs two boxes off the tray and slides into the seat next to Rhyme. “Wha’ was’at, Phones?”

Neku smiles at him, a little weakly, and sits down. “Just--weird stuff. You getting any weird stuff?”

Beat sticks a fry into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Mmmh… Found a CD dropped right on the sidewalk the other day. Popped it in my computer and whaddaya think it was? Some funky swing jams, man, in a different language. Rhyme thinks it was some kind of, uh, whadd’ja say it was, Rhyme, hungry--”

“Hungarian,” Rhyme says, absently. She’s peering intently through the window, looking at something in particular, and Neku squints, thinks for a moment he sees a blur of color, but--no, there’s plenty of color in Shibuya. Probably just some cyclist, or a kid running around really fast, though he doesn’t know why it’s so interesting to Rhyme.

“Yeah, hungry-something,” Beat says, waving a fry in triumph. “So that was my week. Hungry CD, cool tunes, put those on a workout playlist. Talked to Ms. Makita about some stuff. You know, man, she thinks I might be able to get that job? That animal therapy thing?”

“Beat!” Shiki taps her hands in a fast rhythm on the table, grinning. “That’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

Neku’s smiling, too, can’t help it when Shiki and Beat are both practically beaming their joy into his head, but he’s still watching Rhyme, who hasn’t taken her eyes off whatever she’s looking at outside.

“So she’s helpin’ me write up a rezoome,” Beat is saying, and normally Rhyme would interject with her soft correction, but she’s still just staring, and Neku’s certain something’s up. He squints out the window again, leaning forward a little bit, and--

The tail of a death thrash mink, that unmistakable soft steel blue, flashes past his vision, brushed right up against the window, and he yelps, nearly jolting out of his seat, the chair screeching backwards across the tile of the floor.

[](https://78.media.tumblr.com/ab002970edb2d2db3c47da280345391b/tumblr_p9lxwiYSxK1rb5jn4o2_1280.png)

“Neku?” Shiki touches his shoulder, gingerly. “You okay?”

He blinks, but the hallucination’s gone. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it feels full of this...heavy static, like his ears are full of water and ringing, and he can’t quite shake it. “Uhh--yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Beat, you, uh, you know when you’ll hear back?”

Beat’s back to grinning and popping fries like nothing’s out of the ordinary, and says, “Nah, man, not yet, but we on the right track! I can feel it, yo, me and those dogs and cats and--I think that place got, like, ferrets, too, soft li'l guys--”

And Beat’s still talking, gesturing, excited, but Neku can’t really hear him, because there’s something else, some sound that he can’t quite pick out, something that’s not quite music but not quite just white noise either.

He’s had flashbacks before, but never anything that solid, like what’s been happening recently. Out-and-out hallucinations, except they feel weirdly lifelike, weirdly real in a way things his brain makes up have never felt before.

At first it was just out of the corner of his eyes, glimpses of color across the street, then shapes, then sound, and maybe at first he could’ve written it off as a mistake but he knows what Noise look like. It’s pretty hard to mistake them for anything but what they are.

“Neku?”

It’s Rhyme’s voice, soft but clear. He jolts out of his reverie and she’s looking at him, head tilted. She looks...weird, like she’s curious even though she already knows the answer.

“Sorry,” he says, offering a sheepish smile. “Kinda out of it. Busy week, y’know.”

“It’s cool!” Beat’s grinning at him. “Happens all the time, man.”

He’s talking about ferrets now, how they can be just as useful as cats in a therapy context, and Neku’s glad when the ringing in his ears starts to fade, glad to be able to listen to his friend, glad he doesn’t have to deal with this right now.

It’s not that he wants to forget about it. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d _want_ to.

If weird shit is going to happen, that’s fine. He just wants to have a say in it this time. Maybe he could even handle it better, given a fair chance.

...Not that anybody’s going to bother giving him one (and yes, he’s talking about Josh), but he can dream.

* * *

When they walk outside Sunshine, Shiki’s telling Beat about how to get stains out of carpets and Neku’s got the beginnings of a headache for no good reason, so he’s hanging back, trying to process the crowd at something closer to his own pace. He’s got his headphones in his bag, if he needs them, and he knows they’d get it if he just can’t deal but he doesn’t want to have to get to that point in the first place. It’s bullshit. Sensory overload always is.

But, well, it doesn’t even quite feel like overload, just like...weird. He’s thinking that word a lot lately, but it is weird, and there’s no other way to describe it, really. It’s like everything’s _thrumming_ , more vivid and more loud and more everything than it usually is, and, well, that actually does sound exactly like sensory overload, but it’s _different_. Neku is no stranger to overload. Whatever this is, it’s not what he’s used to.

“Neku,” says Rhyme.

She always manages to be gentle and direct at the same time, and not for the first time in his life Neku feels able to really appreciate how good she is at talking. She always knows how to cut through the noise without also cutting through whoever she’s talking to.

She’s fallen into step with him, he notices. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask, are you all right? You seemed really startled in Sunshine.” She’s looking up at him so earnestly, hands in her sweatshirt pockets and eyes warm with sincerity. “And, well, you’ve seemed a bit on edge for a few months now, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m fine,” he says, kind of automatically, dodging a couple of high school girls to keep from getting separated. “Well, I dunno.”

“Is there anything strange going on?” she asks.

For a long moment Neku wonders if she knows somehow, if she knows more than any of them put together, but--he laughs, rubs the back of his neck. Yeah, no way. She’s just unbelievably perceptive, always has been.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I just don’t want you to have to deal with anything on your own.”

He smiles at her, a real genuine smile, building headache or not, because Rhyme, like her brother, means everything she says, always. “Nah. Nah, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she says, and gives her own hand a quick squeeze in his line of sight. It’s the same thing she does for her brother: a show of affection and sympathy and solidarity without having to make physical contact, because not everybody can handle that all the time and right now Neku definitely can’t handle it and he grins at her for getting it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Rhyme share their weekly cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings for this chapter! minor allusion to alcohol near the end of the chapter.
> 
> iiiiit's summer, so updates are likely to come a little faster!

“I don’t know what your problem is,” Rhyme says, stirring her tea with a pleasant rhythmic _clnk clnk clnk_ , “but Neku is really hurting.” She looks up to examine her teatime companion. “I think it’s high time you bury the hatchet.”

“There’s no hatchet to bury,” Joshua says, curt but not choppy. “I have no issue with him.”

“Mm. I assume your perfectly peaceful relationship is the reason you’ve spent so much time with him over the years,” Rhyme says, and sips her tea. “You’ve really given him closure, Joshua, with such generosity and grace.” She pauses, and adds, “Sarcasm.”

Joshua bites back a snapped _I know that_! “He doesn’t need anything from me, I assure you.”

He almost certainly _wants_ to return the favor of a bullet to the face, but he had his chance for that once already, and he won’t be getting another one.

“How do you know that?” How _dare_ she sip her tea so peacefully, even as she accuses him of what her tone suggests are dire crimes of interpersonal connection? Joshua considers the merits of teleporting to the top of 104 and away from here, leaving Rhyme to have tea with an empty seat, but then, no. Rhyme _would_ find him: it would be only a matter of time, and, worse yet, she would be _cross_ with him.

Silence is fine. Even preferable, if the alternative is giving Rhyme the confession she’s pushing for. He takes a moment to let the lull in speech shift the sound that surrounds them, traces the key change that settles over every conversation in the cafe, towards a melody that favors the points he wants to make.

Reading the Music of the room isn’t cheating. It’s conversational strategy. Everyone does it at least a little bit, even if they don’t realize what it is they’re doing; he’s simply better at it than most.

He listens for the shift and delivers his accusation at a caesura: “He’s been messing with my Game.”

Perfectly timed, but Rhyme remains unfazed. She sets down her cup. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, Joshua. Neku doesn’t know _how_ to mess with the Game. He would have to know what was going on to do that. Whatever’s happening really isn’t his fault.”

For a moment Joshua thinks he might have succeeded in changing the topic entirely, and then Rhyme adds, “Also, you’re avoiding the question.”

His scowl deepens just slightly. Yes, and he can keep avoiding it, too. “I think he’s giving them information somehow. Insights.”

“Inspiration?” She’s smiling, just a little bit. Her Music is humming with satisfaction by now, the change inevitable when it comes to these kinds of meetings. Knowing it’s coming, though, makes it no less frustrating.

“It might as well be,” he snaps. He can feel his Music clicking, skipping with irritation. A server behind him trips a bit, almost lets her tray of dishes come crashing to the floor. “These puzzles they’re solving, I never foresaw--”

“Does that somehow mean they’re not allowed to?”

“I’m the--”

“Composer, yes.” She takes another long sip of tea. “Isn’t it the Composer’s job to enable the growth and inspiration of Players?” Her Music breezes onward, a serene woodwind harmony that manages to both soothe and infuriate.

[ ](https://78.media.tumblr.com/696f469f87a0d2902535afce08b56f06/tumblr_p9lxwiYSxK1rb5jn4o1_1280.png)

Joshua glances away, still scowling, not deeply enough to make his head hurt but very nearly. “And the Noise. We talked about the Noise problem at the last Governmental meeting, surely you recall. It’s only getting worse.”

“Uzuki seems to like it,” Rhyme says, thoughtful. “I think she’s adopted that cat Noise. It likes her.”

“Well, they all like everyone now, so that’s hardly a demonstration of her likeability,” Joshua retorts. “The other day a wolf Noise nuzzled into my hand.”

Rhyme smiles, as if the thought of it alone is enough to titillate. “Heaven forbid. Is it that you’re a cat person?”

“ _Nuzzled,_ ” Joshua repeats pointedly. “It got its... _snot_ all over my khakis. That’s absolutely intolerable, Rhyme. And!”

“And?” She’s enjoying this, he’s sure of it. Her flute is laughing at him.

“And he’s completely wrecking the Music,” Joshua says, crossing his arms. “Surely you’ve noticed, around his work, even if it’s faint for you. He’s--it’s like he thinks it _belongs_ to him. He’s been adding grace notes for months now, but time signatures? Those are not his to alter. Full stop.”

“Hm.” Rhyme takes another sip of her tea. “Maybe Neku could help you sort all this out if you talked to him about it.”

Joshua inhales sharply. “Well-- _maybe_ Neku needs to mind his own business!” Sharp clash of porcelain on tile. 

Her gaze lights upon his face again, searching and searing all at once. He looks away again, studying the oil still life on the wall, refusing to meet her eyes, in case she finds that action lacking as well.

He exhales, tries not to stumble over his own shaky rhythm. “He doesn’t want to see me, anyways.”

“How would you know? Have you asked him?”

He fixes a glare on her, letting a hot glow coil behind his eyes, letting her see that she’s being difficult. “No, because that would require--no. No, I have not asked him.”

She nods, as if this is new information she’s taking into account, and takes another long sip of tea. Joshua doesn’t notice that she’s finished it until she sets it down with a _clnk_ of finality on its saucer, and stands.

“Then I think you know what this week’s homework is,” she tells him, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “I have school tomorrow, so I’m going home. Text if you need me, but I’m not changing the assignment.” She leaves a few hundred yen on the table, then reaches out and gives his shoulder an impossibly gentle pat before she turns to leave.

“It’s a bad assignment,” he hollers after her retreating form, but she doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. The door swings open, bell ringing, its frame hissing back and forth across the floor.

He sits back against the chair, trying to force his spine to relax into something that sounds like _ssshhh_ and not _kkhhk_ , but of course it does not respond. Since when has it? His Music is hasty, harried, stifled and frustrated; it feels like choking, like joints clicking just out of place.

Joshua rests his chin in his hand and glances over at the frustrated server trying to sweep up her shattered plates. Easy to forget, sometimes, the effect he has out here. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, slowing his tempo a touch in order to wave the server over without frightening her off.

He offers her a polite smile, going through the motions of paying the bill as he works through the situation in his head. Seeing Neku again--it’s not like he hasn’t _seen_ him since, it’s just that Neku hasn’t seen _him_. He’s thought about how it might go before, tried to walk through the possibilities, but clairvoyance has never really been all that applicable to Neku, so Joshua is left to speculate.

He’ll be angry, Joshua is certain of that, but Neku has never been the aggressive type. He’ll probably just tuck his hands into his pockets, speak sharply, keep his distance. There will be no warm hugs, like there were when the others first met with each other at Hachiko. Neku will not smile. He will not crack wise. He will not look him in the eye. Rhyme has assigned Joshua an exercise in futility.

And yet, even futile endeavours can have merit, can even be necessary in some cases. Since meeting Neku, that is no longer an alien concept to Joshua.

If his Game is ever going to get back in working order, this conversation has to happen. And, if Joshua is being honest with himself - though he hates to have to do so - it was going to happen sooner or later. It isn’t as if he hasn’t been working himself up to it, all this time.

When he stands to leave, he’s thinking about how Neku will look at him, how fermented anger and bitterness will look on his face, in his eyes, and by the time he realizes that he’s thinking about Neku’s eyes he _also_ realizes that his Music has slowed to a calmer, gentler pace, and that is more frustrating than _anything_ that has happened today.

He makes the door shut behind him a little harder than it would have, ignores the nagging feeling that Sanae would be laughing if he could see this, and teleports home to make himself something stiffer than tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we mentioned last chapter that everyone's trans and autistic, and realized it might be pertinent to say what headcanons we'll be using in this particular series! apologies if it's not what you were expecting
> 
> \- AMAB nb neku, he/him, but not a boy  
> \- AFAB nb joshua, he/they, but not a boy  
> \- AMAB binary??? girl shiki, she/her  
> rhyme and beat are also variations of nonbinary but their transness isn't likely to be showcased quite as much


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neku sees someone on the way home from the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for death and a semi-graphic depiction of a trauma response

Neku wasn’t really _lying_ to Rhyme when he said he was fine, those weeks ago. Weird headaches, flashbacks, he’s been dealing with those for years now and it’s not a big deal. The hallucinations are new, but not so much scary as they are unfamiliar, and he can deal with those too. It’s just weird, and he doesn’t really know how to explain what’s been happening, hasn’t even really been able to explain it to _Shiki_ and he tells her basically everything.

It’s not that he’s afraid to tell them. Even if it’s new and freaky symptoms, that’s fine. They’ve all been there, done that, somehow. It’s that he doesn’t know what to _say_ , doesn’t know how to describe what he’s been seeing or hearing or feeling.

It’s not just Noise, and for that matter it’s not just noise, either. Lately it’s--flashes of actual _feelings_ , of emotions that aren’t his. Sometimes it’s like the saturation on everything’s been turned way up, including the saturation of people, of thoughts, whatever that even _means_ , and that’s why Neku doesn’t talk about it because what is he gonna say? 

‘People are brighter.’ He doesn’t even know what that means and it’s happening in his head.

Sometimes he thinks he’s seeing people who aren’t there (in his wildest dreams he thinks, Players?) and then he _knows_ he’s seeing people who aren’t there, flashes of black hoodies and the edges of wings like iron fences. Nothing and nobody that sticks around, but they’re definitely there.

But maybe, he hopes, that’s it. Maybe he can get by just seeing things. It doesn’t seem like anyone there notices him as anything more than a part of the RG scenery, so it’s not like he’s dead, or dying.

And then there’s one day he’s walking back from a quick trip to the store to pick up some more udon, turns a corner for a shortcut and it’s

there’s

standing at the end of the alleyway, scared, a kid there, or, more accurately, halfway there, sort of flickering in and out of existence, glitching sideways like rolling static on a TV screen, and she’s gotta be like maybe twelve and she looks up at Neku, sees him seeing her, _meets his eyes_ ,

something big and loud claws into her and Neku can’t quite make out what it is but he _hears_ it, feels it, feels it claw into _him_ , tearing through his chest even though nothing’s touched him, and he feels-hears-sees the kid screaming and then

a sound like a lightbulb dying out, _ffsszh_

and she’s gone.

[ ](https://78.media.tumblr.com/87492901a4d5ab72b5fb1bc0fd87eb30/tumblr_p9lxwiYSxK1rb5jn4o3_1280.png)

It takes him a moment to realize he’s fallen, and takes another moment to remember how to move again, tucking his knees up close to his chest to try to still his racing heart. He tries to do breathing exercises like his therapist showed him, but his chest feels like it’s been hollowed out, like anything that was there has been scooped out, and his ears are ringing, and he doesn’t have a headache yet but he knows he will.

His hands are shaking when he takes his headphones out of his bag, puts them on, turns on his MP3 player with a familiar flick of his thumb. Whatever’s playing is fine. He just needs the sound of it.

* * *

Rhyme rings his doorbell the next Sunday evening.

He knows they had their usual meetup this past weekend, just doesn’t remember what happened, if he did or said anything that tipped her off, but the fact that he doesn’t know what happened probably _is_ what tipped her off.

“Can I come in?” she says to him, smiling, gentle. “I’d like to make you some tea.”

“Uh,” he says, trying to keep his thoughts in line. Everything feels kinda fuzzy, kinda chilly even before he opened the door. He’s got his headphones around his neck but he keeps forgetting to put them on or play anything, is sort of just letting them weigh on him.

“Neku?” Her hands are curled up in her sweater sleeves and her hat’s tugged on over her ears and the cool air outside is seeping in through the doorway. When she texted Neku to ask if she could come over, he was almost imagining her when she was twelve, little hands in fingerless gloves on a flip phone keypad. But she’s not twelve. She’s, what, eighteen? And she’s alive.

She’s alive. He can feel the weight of his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. He steps aside to let her in and watches her take off her shoes.

She hands him a teacup and says, “You saw something really bad, huh?” He’s sitting on the couch, although he doesn’t remember how he got there.

“It’s,” he says, trying to figure out how to persuade her not to worry, but he looks at her as he takes the cup from her hands, feels the warmth of it, of the cup and of her expression, and remembers that she actually cares. Right. Right. Yeah.

Rhyme knows what to do, when someone doesn’t have words to say. She sits down next to him, takes off her skullcap and folds it neatly in her lap, smoothes down her hat-hair and waits for him to catch the words racing in his skull.

“I think she died,” he says at last. “I mean…erased. Was...yeah.”

She exhales. “Oh, no.”

He rubs his eyes with the base of his palm. “I keep--I’ve been trying to explain to Shiki, I keep seeing things, or, I dunno, _seeing_ isn’t it, but I don’t know what else to call it. It didn’t feel wrong, like I didn’t--don’t think I need new meds or something, but I--”

“He should have talked to you,” Rhyme says, firm, without preamble.

Neku looks up, squinting at her. “Huh?”

“Joshua,” she says, and her face is tight, mouth drawn in a line.

Now Neku’s _really_ confused. “What are you talking about? I mean, _yeah_ , but--” He shakes his head. What is… did Rhyme even really ever _meet_ Josh?

She unfolds her cap, tugs it back and forth between her fingers, looking at it as she speaks. “I was waiting for him to talk to you. It’s his responsibility, you know? And I’m really pissed that he’s making me do his work for him.”

“He does that,” Neku says, without really thinking about it.

Rhyme laughs, dry, resigned. “He’s working on fixing it. Progress takes time, I suppose, but this is still unacceptable.”

It is. Neku can agree with that - he feels fucking terrible, and that’s about the only thing he can reliably process right now. So it takes a few seconds before he starts to wonder, wait, he’s _working_ on…? Present tense?

Rhyme turns to him, still tugging at her cap. Her face is very serious, and very kind, and she says, “When we got back, Neku, I was seeing things, stuff like what I imagine you’ve been seeing, these past few months.”

Neku stares at her. “Uh?”

“Noise, mostly,” she says, “and then some Players, here and there. I was essentially tuned into the UG from day one.” She’s wrapping her hat around her whole hand, pulling it tight and then letting it spill loose again. “So Joshua came to talk to me, maybe a few weeks after the whole thing, and explained a few things.”

“Seriously?” Neku’s not sure if he should be confused or angry. He thinks he’s both, but not really at Rhyme. “He talked to--to you?”

“I think he thought he’d, um,” --and she’s smiling-- “be some kind of mentor? It was very silly.” She looks up again and says, with the utmost sincerity, “He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.”

Neku laughs, now. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“I think I accidentally turned into his advisor, or something,” she says. “So we’ve been in touch, for a while now. I didn’t _like_ not telling you or anybody but--you know. It’s his responsibility.”

“Yeah.” The tea is drinking temperature now. Neku sips at it, and lets himself feel the warmth seep down into him. Just talking about this, he feels better.

“I wanted him to do the work.” She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Neku swallows his next sip. “No, no, don’t be. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted you to tell me. Like, I would’ve wanted _him_ to.” He still does, actually, even if he already knows.

“I thought so,” she says. She leans back into the couch, letting her shoulders relax, and sighs again, long and loud. “Geez! I was worrying about doing that to you all this time. I’m _glad_ I did, and I’m glad you’re okay with it, but-- _geez_.”

For a moment it’s quiet, which is honestly pretty comfortable. Neku’s processing, drinking his tea, trying to get the information to stick, and Rhyme’s still messing with her hat, maybe getting used to not being the only one who knows anymore. They’re both getting used to that, actually. It’s sort of weird.

“So,” Neku says, finally. “You could tell?”

“You were looking at the same things I was,” Rhyme says. “So yup. I don’t know your details, because you might be tuned in differently than me, but the Noise stuff is pretty obvious. Nobody else usually bats an eye.”

“And Josh knows?”

She exhales, frustrated, stretching her cap between both hands. “Yes. He was _supposed_ to come talk to you last _week_. I could tell he didn’t, because he didn’t text me, and I know he would’ve texted me to whine if he had, so I skipped our meeting tonight.” She grimaces, but she does look pretty pleased with herself. Neku’s pretty pleased with her, too, if he’s being honest. “I think he’ll know why I’m mad.”

“So...should I be...expecting…”

“Oh, definitely. At _some_ point in the near future, anyway. He’s a coward, but he’s not that bad.” Rhyme tilts her head, thinking. “I think he would’ve come right up and talked to you about it like he did with me, if you weren’t…” She gestures with the hand covered in hat. “You know, _you_.”

“Yeah,” Neku says, even though he’s not one hundred percent on what she means by that. “He’s not a bad guy, I know.”

She hesitates a moment, wringing the hat like it’s a dishrag. It looks like good fabric, sturdy but soft. Neku kinda wants to know where she got it. “I didn’t just tell him everything, you know. I mean...I don’t want you to think I was some kind of fly on the wall.”

“Nah, I didn’t think you were.” He sets the cup down on the table. “You were doing what you thought was best. And I think it _was_ best?” It’s kind of hard to imagine Joshua seeking someone out to try to help them in the first place, but Neku already knows he’s not the same person he was in their second week. None of this would be happening, if that were true.

Rhyme genuinely does seem relieved by this, which makes sense. “It was mostly, I was telling him things I’d seen and he was giving me context, and then he’d complain about something and I’d give him advice.”

“So like a therapist?”

She laughs. “I call myself his therapist sometimes, yeah, but I think I’m mostly just his friend.”

Neku looks down, between his legs, thinking. “That’s...good. I’m glad. That you are.”

“Neku,” she says, voice soft. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Not your responsibility. You did the best you could. And, I mean.” He laughs. “You were just a kid! And you already had a better sense of responsibility and morality than the goddamn... Composer of Shibuya.”

The words sort of hang in the air, and Neku almost regrets saying it like he did, playing up all the bitter passion he’s been hanging onto for years, making what’s already obvious even more obvious. Everybody gets it, he cares, he doesn’t have to be that loud about it.

But Rhyme doesn’t seem to mind, just says, “I think he was just a kid, too, kinda. Not like we were, but kinda.”

She picks up Neku’s cup from the table, stands to put it away, and adds, “I’m still pissed at him, though.”

Neku laughs. He feels...looser, lighter somehow. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“No, tell _him_ about it, when he comes to see you.” Neku can hear the smile in her voice, even though she’s turned the other way. “If it’s all right with you, I don’t think I’ll tell him what you said you saw. Um, I don’t really think it’s mine to, um.”

“It’s okay,” Neku says. Honestly, more than anything, he appreciates having the warning, that Josh is going to...happen, soon. Actually knowing is way easier than being just _slightly_ on his toes all the damn time.

“I can text him, though. Let him know I’m mad.” She’s turned on the water.

“Oh, jeez, Rhyme, you coulda just put it in the sink.” He’s grateful, though. “Please do, though, yeah. Let him know you’re mad, I mean.”

“What you saw,” she says, over the sound of the sink, “I’ve seen that kind of thing before. It’s really bad. I know it’s really bad.”

His stomach drops, just thinking about it. “Yeah. Uh, I didn’t...I wasn’t really sure what to do.” Only sure that he wanted to do _something_.

Rhyme dries the cup for him, even, puts it back in its place. “It’s okay. It’s not your job to know all by yourself. And nobody should have to be tuned in all by their lonesome. It’s really hard.” She comes back to sit with him, crossing her legs on the couch. “D’you want to talk about it? It helps, to talk about it with someone else who’s seen the same kind of things.”

“Um,” Neku says. He suddenly feels lost. “I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s okay too,” she says. “We can just chill.”

She’s looking at him, curious but not expectant, and Neku knows she would leave him alone if he asked her to, but he doesn’t really _want_ to be alone with this. It might be easier on the surface, but it’s not easier, not really.

“Can you tell me, uh, the extent? Of what you see,” he says.

It’s a lot. This is a lot, all at once, and he’s asking for more, but Rhyme’s always been good at pacing. He trusts her to take this at the right speed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time coming, hasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no significant warnings for this chapter. enjoy!

He’s not really looking where he’s going, just trusting that other people walking will notice the overstuffed backpack and elementary school nametag and do him the kindness of parting around him. The piece of crayon-ravaged paper in his hands is not particularly comprehensible, apart from the clumsy, purple hiragana in the corner: _Chikuraba-sensei_. Almost right.

If he turns the paper a certain way, he can almost see the image Yuta had tried to explain: Magenta, from Tin Pin Slammurai GX-3, pointing at… Neku’s still not sure. It looks like it might be some kind of dog, but Yuta had said it was a battle, and even if Neku isn’t keeping up with the new season he’s pretty sure they haven’t been fighting _dogs_. Maybe the wiki will say something; he can check when he gets back home.

He only glances up for a moment, so he doesn’t fall down the stairs that lead up to the mural just outside his apartment complex, but a moment is enough to recognize the familiar flash of grey. It isn’t where he expected to see it, and in fact is not even facing his direction, but Joshua is unmistakable.

[](https://78.media.tumblr.com/fd97ce675647fea3d4c8d7359520784e/tumblr_papgx2ER041rb5jn4o1_1280.png)

Neku stops there, on the second stair to the bottom, frozen. If there is a more appropriate place for a flashback, he can’t think of one, but if this is another episode of brain-scrambling deja vu, his memory has the positions swapped around. Joshua stands there, nearly rapt, in front of the intricate whorls and jags of paint, as Neku approaches, seemingly unnoticed.

He’s known this would happen, really happen, for nearly a week, and he’s been waiting years on top of that, but it still feels all too sudden when Joshua speaks.

“I’m surprised this held up so well.” His voice is light, conversational, as if they’ve already been speaking for hours. He lifts a hand to one of the lines, tracing the curve with one finger.

When Neku doesn’t respond, still paralyzed with the sheer number of thoughts flooding his head, Josh turns his head, makes eye contact, and he looks--looks a little older, like he’s been aging with the rest of them, and isn’t that a good joke?

Neku steels himself against the drop in his stomach, and when his voice doesn’t work the first time around, he clears his throat and tries again. “No one--no one really wants to touch it.” Why does he feel like this? He’s been _expecting_ this, it shouldn’t be so, so...

Josh laughs, once, harsh and short, as he turns to face Neku properly. “You’re giving him far more respect than he ever offered you.”

“...Maybe so.” Neku looks at the ground, wishing he could shove his hands in his pockets but not wanting to crumple Yuta’s work. “What are you doing here.”

He can practically see Josh’s affront, even if he isn’t looking. “It’s my city, you kn--”

“What are you _doing_ here.” Neku looks up, braced for anything now, not bothering to keep the heat out of his voice. “I thought you didn’t want to see any of us. Ever again.”

Josh looks as though he doesn’t know how to respond, which is bullshit, because he _always_ knows how to respond, and that’s the worst part of him, just like every other part. Neku capitalizes on the silence: “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

At that, Joshua responds, crossing his arms, indignant. “Now who told you that?”

This is unbelievable. There are a million things that Neku would like to say, but none of them are big enough, sharp enough, loud enough to get through to him, to communicate even a fraction of how he feels. Loss, loneliness, betrayal, gratitude, anger, bitterness, something he can only describe as _homesickness_ \- it’s ridiculous, it’s all ridiculous, it’s nothing he can even work out in his _head_ , let alone aloud. And yet, here Josh is, asking for just that description, in ten words or fewer, you have three minutes starting now and this is the only chance you get on this exam so you’d better have studied.

Neku has been studying for six years, and he still does not have an answer.

“Neku?” Josh’s head is slightly tilted, and he almost looks like he really wants to hear what Neku has to say to him, like he really gives a shit.

He takes a deep breath, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt with his free hand. “What.”

“You know,” Josh says, and then pauses a moment. In the silence Neku can just barely hear the muffled thumping beat of Wild Boar’s music to his left, tries his best to ground himself in it, and then Josh’s voice rings clear again: “Even I’m not entirely sure how I expected this to go, but I don’t think it was like this. I think I foresaw more...dialogue.”

Neku grits his teeth. “Oh, I’m not talking enough for you? What is it exactly that you want me to _say?_ ” He takes a step closer, out into the clearing. “‘ _Thanks_ , Josh, for deigning at _last_ to grace me with your company, after six - _six!_ \- years, I’m so _grateful_ , you know I’ve just been waiting with bated breath for you to just come and waltz back into my life--”

“You still stop at Hachiko, don’t you?”

Neku’s breath skips a moment. He tries to process the idea that Josh has been watching from afar. It’s...not entirely surprising, is certainly in-character, but Neku had all but convinced himself that Josh had simply withdrawn entirely.

“I waited,” he says, at last. His voice feels rougher than he would like. “For you.” Josh is watching him, unwavering, violet eyes unreadable but focused. “Don’t bother telling me you just couldn’t make it.”

At this, Josh is silent, completely still. Is this the way to shut him up, Neku wonders? Express genuine emotion at him and wait as he performs the mental gymnastics necessary to avoid responding in turn?

He clearly has the upper hand now, and who knows how long that’ll last, so he keeps pushing. “Maybe I should’ve waited here so you could shoot me again? Is that what it would’ve taken?”

Josh slips his hands into his back pockets, kicks a pebble and watches it skitter across the concrete. “You’re right. I could’ve come.”

Neku is hyper-aware of his left hand, carefully monitoring how tightly it’s clenched, unwilling to damage Yuta’s piece. This is going on his fridge, damn it, no matter how frustrating Joshua ends up making his walk home.

“So why _didn’t_ you?” he asks. “I know you saw me, you just said--”

Josh looks up, half-smiling and half-definitely not. “Did you really _want_ to see me, Neku? After all that?”

It’s clear what answer Josh expects, but he’s not as good at predicting the future as he likes to think he is, never really has been, because then Neku barks out a laugh, and says, “You know, the funny thing is -- yeah. Every day.”

Now the shock, the confusion is evident on Josh’s face. That not-really-smile drops a little bit further, and Neku can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out if he’s heard right, how to respond, where to go from here.

It’s kind of neat, having the conversational advantage, standing in Josh’s place, so Neku is confident enough to keep going. “I wanted to see you. _Have_ wanted to see you.” Does he see Josh’s eyes flicker? It’s hard to tell from this distance, in this light, so he takes a step closer.

“I guess I’m just wondering, why now?” Josh is still rooted in place, like he’s--like a startled animal, or something, even though it’s obvious that Neku can’t do a thing to hurt him. Even so, Neku offers him a small smile, just in case it helps. “Did I finally say the secret word or something?”

It’s not as if Josh relaxes at the joke, but he does start moving again, brushing his hair with his hand at the back, pulling through the curls. “I’m afraid I’m actually here on business.”

“Oh, God, you _are_ here to shoot me again.” Neku’s eyes go mock-wide, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

And Josh actually laughs at that, so Neku managed to do _something_ right here. “A shame, I’ve forgotten my gun at home. You’ll have to settle for listening to my complaints instead.”

This is more like what Neku’s used to. Familiar ground, for the both of them, it seems. “Complaints? _You_ have complaints for _me_? Are you going to shout them at me in the middle of the alleyway?”

Josh shrugs. “Well, I don’t think the employees at Wild Boar mind terribly, but having somewhere to sit might be nice. I thought perhaps the River, over drinks?”

Neku stares. “Rrrrright. Okay, so, a couple of things. By _River_ , you mean _sewer_ , I just finished work and my apartment is _right_ there, and are you _seriously_ asking me out right now?”

Josh pulls a disgruntled face, raising his arms in an exaggerated expression of indignance. “It’s a nice place, Neku. There are fish. Do you have fish?”

Neku sighs, more fondly than he figured he could manage under these circumstances, and adjusts his bag over his shoulder. “It’s a sewer, and I’m going home and eating dinner. Are you coming with me or what?”

At this Josh smirks, and just like that they’re solidly back to the comfortable acid of their usual back-and-forth. “Inviting me home on the first date? My, how forward of you, Neku.”

Neku rolls his eyes. “All right, well. Good night, Josh.” He walks forward, past Joshua, towards the path to his apartment.

He only glances back for a half-second, but it seems he didn’t need to, because Josh has already reached out to touch his shoulder. “Hold on.”

Is Josh really under the impression that Neku was going to keep walking? That he would really just walk away from all this? Neku turns to look at him, deliberately meeting his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Josh says, scowling a little. “I really do need to talk to you.”

Neku gestures towards his apartment, as grandly as he can muster with Josh on his shoulder and an important paper in his hand and the weight of his backpack. It really is _right_ there. “Do I need to roll out a red carpet? Fetch a palanquin?”

Josh lets go of Neku’s shoulder, quickly, as though he’s just realized he hadn’t yet moved his hand away, but he recovers just as fast, flashing a charming smile. “Oh, no, I’d like to experience this authentically. When in Rome, and all that.”

Neku could push back on that, could keep raising the stakes of this banter until none of the hurt or the worry or the relief or anything mattered anymore, but he figures they both deserve some authenticity for once, so he gives Josh a small, genuine smile in return, and says, “Cool. Come on, I think I have some leftovers in the fridge.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joshua visits Neku's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for food and things gettin saucy

Joshua isn’t usually one for visiting other people’s homes in person - or other people at all, for that matter - so it’s something of a challenge to figure out what to do with his physical form once he steps in the door and slips off his shoes. Neku, for his part, knows exactly what he’s doing and where he’s going, tossing his keys and bag on the counter and heading for the fridge.

Instead of going for the leftovers, though, he stands there a moment, fiddling with something, and Joshua surveys what he can see of the fridge’s front. It’s covered in...what appears to be some of the _worst_ Tin Pin Slammurai GX-3 fanart he’s had the misfortune of laying his eyes on.

He’s behind Neku in a moment, squinting from over his shoulder at the newest addition. “Is that a dog?”

“You know, I don’t know,” Neku says, giving the piece of paper a gentle pat. “But he drew it for me, so on the fridge it goes.”

“He got your name wrong.” Joshua has been trying to avoid listening to Neku’s Music, but it’s difficult to ignore the way the notes lengthen with affection, lilt into one another like an embrace, a pat on the back, _I’m so proud of you_. It’s a quintessentially Neku sound, and it’s one Joshua is very much not used to.

“He’s six. I can excuse the mistake.” Neku steps back, forcing Joshua to do so as well, and opens the fridge. “So, I got--”

“Are you teaching? Is that why six-year-olds are offering you gifts?” It sounds like he’s good at it. Like it makes him happy.

Neku pulls out two plastic containers and sets them down on the counter. “You’ve been watching me for six years and you still don’t know what I do for a living?”

“I do have other obligations, you know. And it’s not as though I’m incapable of giving you privacy.” Whether he chooses to grant that privacy at any given time is irrelevant, and he dodges the potential of interrogation in that direction by slipping over to examine the takeout. “What is this?”

“Fried rice. Beef,” Neku says. He’s leaning against the counter, one long curve resting against a solid line, an piece of art in and of himself. And to think, he’s not even _trying_.

“Oh. Hm.” Joshua peers through the lid of one container, ignores a persistent urge to keep looking at Neku’s shapes, his colors, the way his form settles into the world, the harmony he creates just existing in his own space. “I do prefer chicken.”

Neku hands him a glass of water; Joshua skillfully ignores the feeling of Neku’s hand brushing against his. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind for next time you visit, so, what--six years from now? I’ll be sure to have it ready for you.”

Joshua scowls at him, and retreats to the couch to let Neku heat up dinner. “Have a little faith, Neku.”

That earns him a laugh, a real one. They’re still in safe territory; Neku’s Music is almost unnervingly pleasant, steady and gentle and nearly _glowing_ with how tangibly comfortable he feels. It’s… honestly relieving. “Faith in what, you? Hasn’t worked out very well for me so far.”

“So, logically,” Joshua says, swiveling to prop up his legs on the remaining length of the couch and watch him cook, “you’re overdue for a little return on your investment.” He hears Neku’s clarinet skirt playfully up the scale and down again, accompanied by faintly melodic laughter from the kitchen.

“Better be a damn good check in the mail, then, for all I’ve put into it.” Joshua picks up on the emotional intimacy this implies, turns it over in his hands a bit, and then files it away, choosing instead to get a proper look at Neku.

He’s most clearly taller, filled out, like he’s actually grown into his body, and though his work clothes could be more flattering, the shapes that make him up are still clear, long and lithe but sturdy all the same. It’s obvious he’s had plenty of practice at this particular dish, in the way he flips the rice, in the ease and grace and fluidity of it. It would be absurd to label such a mundane motion anything close to beautiful, but Joshua is considering it. 

Joshua is considering a lot of things that seem absurd these days.

“Glad you’re enjoying the view,” Neku says, somewhat dryly, but he doesn’t turn, and doesn’t seem averse to Joshua’s appraisal. His Music is still steady, still content.

Joshua is one part surprised that he noticed the attention, seemingly so absorbed in his task, and two parts pleased. “Oh, I am. You’ve only gotten easier on the eyes, you know.”

Neku laughs. “Good to see you’re not fifteen anymore, either, or this would be really weird.”

He’s so _casual_ about this, so frighteningly genuine, as though it’s the easiest thing in the world to be so open, so flippant, about what he wants. 

_Wants_. Neku wants... what?

Joshua would be frozen with unease at the question, if he weren’t so exhilarated at the prospect of finding an answer.

He notices, faintly, that he’s tugging on his hair, and is glad that Neku is occupied with divvying up the rice into bowls. It means he has a moment to collect himself, and he does, relaxing into the cushions, smiling lazily up at Neku as he brings the food to the couch.

“You took my spot,” Neku says, gesturing to Joshua’s legs.

“A pity,” he says, accepting the bowl. “Whatever will you do?”

Neku rolls his eyes, and physically lifts Joshua’s legs by the ankles. “I see you’re still built like a toothpick,” he remarks, sliding onto the couch and letting Joshua’s legs fall atop his lap. 

“Ow,” Joshua says. “I see you’ve managed to forget that I’m just as easy to snap.” His calves still ache where Neku gripped them, even if it wasn’t really _that_ tight, and it’s almost exciting that he’ll probably bruise in the pattern of Neku’s hand.

Almost. The ache of his muscles, although familiar, is still relatively inconvenient.

Neku snorts, giving Joshua’s ankles a gentle pat. It’s eerie, how quickly he picks up on how to touch him, how carefully perceptive he is in that particular arena. “Kinda easy to forget. You don’t really expect a god to bruise when you poke them.” He glances sidelong at Joshua, who is already scooping up rice with his chopsticks. “Are you always that delicate? Even when you’re, y’know--”

“Maybe one day you’ll find out,” Joshua says, sweetly, shoveling fried rice into his mouth. It’s actually very good, despite not being chicken, and it’s likely that being sprawled out on Neku’s lap helps with the overall experience.

They’re both quiet for a moment, mouths occupied, and at first that’s just fine until Neku’s music swells, peering over the edge of a cliff with the kind of nervous anticipation that doesn’t quite know what it’s expecting in the first place.

Joshua looks down at his rice, and lets himself listen for a moment, resting his chopsticks against the side of the bowl. Getting to listen to Neku’s music is a luxury he has rarely afforded himself, but to listen to it in such close proximity, to listen to it when it’s _directed_ at him, isn’t a luxury he’s had the opportunity to afford in the first place.

“Is there something you want to say to me, Neku?” he says finally, soft, not wanting to disrupt the sound but too curious not to ask.

“Oh, is that why you were just sitting there staring at your dinner?” Neku grins. “Nah, not really. Just sort of wanted to know what you were thinking.” He pauses, and then seems to correct himself: “Uh, about-- you said you had complaints?”

“Ah, yes. Those.” Joshua thinks about the best way to phrase the issue at hand, and then nods. “Well, I’d like you to stop.”

Neku blinks. “Um,” he says, around the chopsticks that are still frozen in his mouth. “Okay? Stop what?”

Joshua glares at him, refusing to be endeared. “What do you mean, stop what? You’re interfering. I don’t like it. Stop doing it.”

“You’re--you’re going to have to be a little more specific, Josh.” Neku sets down his chopsticks again. “Interfering with what, with you?”

Either Neku really has no idea what he’s been doing, or just really doesn’t want to admit it, and Joshua’s genuinely not sure which is more likely. He sets his bowl down on the table and folds his legs back, using the momentum of the motion to propel himself up into sitting properly. “With everything! The Game, the city, the Music -- it’s obviously your fault and I’d appreciate if you would just stop playing coy and take responsibility.”

He’s actually more annoyed about all of this than he had realized. It’s--it’s inappropriate, for Neku to be interfering without asking, but for the interference to be so, so bluntly familiar is completely unacceptable, and

“Responsibility, wh--”

And there’s no way Neku doesn’t know what he’s doing, surely. He’s clever. This has to be some form of revenge for leaving him alone, some misguided attempt at trying to force Joshua into making contact

“--I, _listen_ \--”

and look at that, his little plan worked, so Neku might as well give up the ghost already and just

“Joshua, _hello_! I would _absolutely_ stop, if I were _doing_ anything, but I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Joshua pauses. “You don’t?”

“No!” Neku huffs out. “And I don’t really appreciate being blamed for whatever the hell is going wrong in _your_ Game!”

Joshua scoffs and turns away, pointedly examining the flat beige of the wall behind the sofa. “And yet this is _clearly_ your doing. Nobody else could--not like _this_.” Nobody would know what to do, let alone have the gall to try it.

He turns to face Neku again, abruptly. “All right. So you don’t know what you’ve been doing in my world? Tell me what you’ve been doing in yours, then.”

“What, like, what’ve I been up to? _Now_ you’re interested?” Neku’s mouth curls. “You want me to recount the entire past six years for your careful analysis?”

“Mm. Essentially, yes.” He might be a bit taken aback, but at least Neku seems to be willing to cooperate. Joshua lets himself relax a bit, settling his hand on the couch, perhaps a bit boldly close to Neku’s leg, but until a complaint is raised it’s like it’s not even there.

Neku fidgets under Joshua’s expectant scrutiny, and settles on putting his bowl down on the table in front of them. “Well…” He lets out a breath. “What is it you want me to say? You’ve been watching me this whole time, haven’t you?”

Joshua shrugs. “Yes, but clearly I’ve missed something, so” --he leans closer, placing a hand on Neku’s leg-- “let’s take it from the top” --and gives his thigh a firm tap. “Shall we?” He smiles. “Isn’t this what people do when they meet up after a while? We’re just catching up. Come on, Neku, I’ve been _dying_ to hear from you.”

Neku’s face betrays the moment he gets the pun, and the moment he decides to ignore it. 

Joshua’s smile widens with the triumph. It’s not so bad to be back.

“O...kay.” Neku sighs. “Well. You saw I’ve been teaching, which, is good?” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the fridge. “I like kids, and they like art, so, it works out pretty well. Shiki and Eri have been doing a lot of shows, a couple independent ones, and they’ve been doing pretty well. I help out with the designs sometimes, I don’t really know why, since I’m not really a, y’know, fashion kind of person?”

“You wouldn’t think it from the way you dress, no, but you’re an artist, so I’m sure it helps to have your particular pair of eyes,” Joshua says. Actually, Neku’s outfit looks very...comfortable. Not necessarily cutting-edge, but it suits him, and the fabric is nice under Joshua’s fingers.

“Ha.” It’s a dry laugh, but Neku does seem at least faintly pleased by the buried compliment. “Uh, and Beat’s in training for this animal therapy thing. He’s really excited about it. We--all of us, you know, me, Beat, Shiki, Rhyme, we get together on weekends, usually just a quick Sunshine run, and he talks about it all the time. So that’s--cool, yeah. That’s normal. The more recent stuff, not so much, but--”

“More recent stuff?” Joshua sits up a little more. This is likely the answer he’s been looking for. Not that it hasn’t been nice to hear Neku aimlessly mumble about his friends and reaching for the stars and whatnot, but he’s here for a reason, no matter how comfortable Neku’s mumbling might be.

“I’ve been.” Neku waves his hand, as if to describe the shape of something he hasn’t yet mentioned. “Seeing things? Game things, I think.”

Joshua’s hand tenses on Neku’s thigh. “Such as?”

“Noise, mostly? A--a lot of Noise. The other day, though, I, um.”

Joshua waits for Neku to continue, but when he doesn’t, Joshua prompts: “What?”

“I saw a…” Neku’s voice is suddenly crackly, his Music fading to a mezzo forte, in stark contrast to his usual fortissimo. “Saw a Player, I guess. Get….”

If Joshua had a heartbeat, he’s sure it would’ve stopped. “Ah.”

Neku smiles, despite himself. “Erased? Not, not died, right, it’s different?”

“It is.” He shouldn’t have left it this long. Neku shouldn’t have been exposed to that, not without some kind of, some kind of explanation. There’s no possible way for Rhyme to know what’s going on here, but Joshua can already see her shaking her head at him, the moment she finds out. “I’m…”

Neku laughs. “What, sorry?”

It almost twinges, that Neku would be skeptical, but then it’s not as though they parted on particularly good terms. “Yes. That you had to see that.” The Joshua Neku remembers probably wouldn’t have said a word, but Joshua is not who he used to be. He’s made a point of that.

Neku’s face softens. “Listen, just--don’t worry about it, okay? I’ve seen worse.” His Music does feel more comfortable, less discordant, and that very nearly makes up for the mournful tone it’s taken on. “I just don’t know why I’m seeing this in the first place. And, the thing is, I’m not interfering with whatever I see, I promise, it’s just kinda...there. I don’t even know if it notices me, at least I don’t think--”

“No, you’re right, that’s not the interference.” Joshua’s staring now, not quite at Neku but in his direction, trying to think. This means something, just not the something he’s been looking for. Of course, that doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant. “What else? What else have you been doing?”

“I dunno, not that much, Josh, I’m not that exciting.” Neku’s tapping his forehead, as if to get it to work faster. “I’ve been doing some art, I guess? Outside of class, like, around the city. Some official stuff, some--uh, less official, I don’t know, you must’ve seen that around, right? Or, or, felt--heard? It? Or something?”

“Ah. Yes.” Joshua smiles faintly, still only looking in Neku’s general direction, tapping out a gentle rhythm on his thigh as he recalls what he’s seen. “I’ve noticed it.”

Neku’s looking directly at him, though, curious and miffed all at once when Joshua doesn’t elaborate. “That’s it? No scathing critiques?”

“No, it’s--” Joshua goes silent for a moment, assembling the words. “Your use of color is unexpectedly refreshing, and your sincerity is tangible in every brush stroke. You’ve been doing good work.” He leans closer, still putting most of his weight on the back of the couch, but close enough to leaning on Neku’s shoulder that he can feel Neku’s warmth, the shape of him. “You might be surprised. Some of your more recent pieces are the talk of Miyashita Park, these days.”

Somehow this is news to Neku, because he seems genuinely stunned. “Wh--no kidding! Wow.”

And that, the breathlessness in Neku’s voice, the way his Music trips over itself in an effort to communicate the sheer joy of being understood-- that makes everything click, and Joshua’s eyes refocus on Neku’s face. “Neku, what are you thinking about when you paint something?”

Neku looks like he’s about to say something, but Joshua interrupts him to correct himself: “No. What are you feeling?”

Neku looks at the ceiling, and lets his shoulders drop, laughs out a breath. “Ffhh. Uh. What a question. I guess…” His face gentles. “Most of the stuff near the underpass, I did a lot of that for Beat and Rhyme. To soften it up, y’know? Trying to get across, ‘it’s safe here, it’s okay, it’s not gonna…’ yeah. Y’know. The official stuff that’s up in the park was more just, like, fun!”

He’s actually smiling now, bright, bright in a way that’s almost difficult to look at. “Like, like look at this place! Look at where you are, look at--the people around you, isn’t it amazing to be here? Alive, right here, right now, it’s--”

He notices Joshua staring at him, and laughs, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “S-sorry. Did, uh, did that answer your question?”

Joshua sighs. “Yes, unfortunately.”

Neku waits. “...Okay? Gonna fill me in?”

Joshua clenches his jaw. “She’s _listening_ to you.”

“Who’s listening? Rhyme?”

“No.” He scoffs, almost offended. This should be so _obvious_ , for all he’s done, and yet he’s completely oblivious, not even _appreciating_ \-- “ _She_ is. Shibuya.”

“Oh.” Neku blinks. “What?” He looks down, and then up at Joshua again, presumably in shock. “ _What_?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Joshua snaps, pushing himself up to straddle Neku’s legs, leaning in as if proximity will give him more answers. “Neku. This is _my_ city. Not yours, _mine_.”

If nothing else, the closeness startles Neku, forces him to retreat a little into the cushions. “I--Jesus, Josh, I _know_ , I’m not _doing_ anything! Do you want me to stop painting? I don’t--”

“ _No_.” The word carries the weight of the city herself. Joshua’s grip is tight on Neku’s thigh, and he’s staring daggers at him, at his eyes, at eyes so blue it might as well be criminal, at eyes that have looked at blank concrete and seen the potential for life, at eyes that are looking back at him and seeing something similar.

Neku breathes out, slowly, heavily. “Okay. So. What... _do_ you want?” His voice is throaty, nearly strained.

Joshua shifts his weight and wets his lips, looking for the right words and coming up empty. “What a question.”

“Yeah,” Neku says, unbearably soft.

[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b5c84c7623afa0c643a473d20ce638cb/tumblr_ph0ziwX4vX1rb5jn4o1_1280.png)

For a moment, both of their Music, Shibuya’s Music, everything, hits a grand pause, the fermata nearly taunting Joshua, _well, what now_ , and there’s really never going to be a better time to do this, is there, so Joshua closes what little distance is left between them and kisses him, full on.

Neku doesn’t hesitate like Joshua thought he might, just kisses back, twines his hands in Joshua’s hair and pulls him closer still, like he’s excited, like he’s been waiting, like he’s been wanting this for years.

And if that’s really true, he’s not the only one, so Joshua stops bothering to be careful, bites soft at Neku’s lower lip and pulls just a little bit and for his effort hears Neku gasp, “ _Josh_ ,” and, oh. Oh, that’s _nice_.

He grins, curls a hand around the back of Neku’s neck to get some leverage, grinding against him and Neku _responds_ , pushes back and up and closer. Joshua can feel Neku’s heart racing under his other hand and he feels _alive_ , bright and new and strange and _why_ has it taken him so long to come back if all this time they could’ve been doing this, been feeling like this, close and hot and Music tangled in clumsy harmony,

and then Neku pushes at him, head twisted to the side to fend him off. “Okay! Nope! Out!”

The rejection doesn’t really register as _rejection_ , not after such lovely responses, but Joshua is still a little put off. He was having _fun_. Not to mention he’s having some trouble regaining his balance. “What? Why? You’re clearly enjoying yourself.” And so what if he’s pouting. He has good reason to be.

Neku’s still trying to catch his own breath, wiping his mouth with one hand and pointing to the door with the other. “Exactly. _Out_. Text me later and be _professional_ about it.”

Joshua gapes at him as he rises to his feet, shaky as he takes a step backwards, almost hitting the table. “Fine.” He straightens his shirt and folds his arms, doing his best to glare despite the unruly feeling of excitement unfolding behind his ribs. “Fine!”

He teleports out of the apartment. To establish dominance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that this is applicable specifically to this chapter, but i thought it'd be worthwhile to remind everyone of a policy specific to this fic: when we release sexual or kink content, we'll be releasing it as a related work within the series, not as a chapter in this fic, and it'll be optional to read - not tied to plot. the rating listed will remain, and anything that exceeds it will be a sidebar. (we will definitely be exceeding it, tho. dw about that.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you're having trouble viewing the image, or if it looks like it might be cut off, click on the image to be linked to the full view!


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